


We're Predisposed

by larkscape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU - No Victuuri, Communication Failure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Getting Together, Hasetsu, M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 06:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larkscape/pseuds/larkscape
Summary: “Wait, where’s Yuuri?”“He had to stay behind for another interview this morning," Yuri says. "Did you hear his announcement?”“Of course. Minako-senpai was ready to climb through the television to strangle him for it, too. No warning at all! But it will be nice to have him home again.”“Yeah, I guess.”Home.As in: here. In Japan. Not in St. Petersburg with Yuri and Victor and all their rinkmates. Damn it, Yuri spent the whole eight-hour trip from Nagano trying toavoidthinking about those implications, and it’s the first thing Hiroko brings up.-Reasonable peopletelleach other these things, Yuuri.





	We're Predisposed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Ganesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/gifts).



> Yuuri and Victor are platonic soulmates, but not romantic.
> 
> Lady_Ganesh, I tried to roll as many of your thoughts and likes into one fic as I could. I hope you enjoy it!

“Yurio!” There are only a handful of people Yuri will accept that nickname from, but Hiroko is high on the list. She’s practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Congratulations on your silver medal! Come in, come in, everyone’s here already. The triplets in particular are very excited to see you.”

Oh, no. They’re throwing him a birthday party again, aren’t they? God, every year. He shouldn’t visit right after Worlds anymore.

It’s kind of sweet, though. Nice, especially after the last couple days.

Hiroko peers around as Yuri shuts the door and deposits his shoes by the entry. “Wait, where’s Yuuri?”

“He had to stay behind for another interview this morning. Did you hear his announcement?”

“Of course. Minako-senpai was ready to climb through the television to strangle him for it, too. No warning at all! But it will be nice to have him home again.”

“Yeah, I guess.” _Home._ As in: here. In Japan. Not in St. Petersburg with Yuri and Victor and all their rinkmates. Damn it, he spent the whole eight-hour trip from Nagano trying to _avoid_ thinking about those implications, and it’s the first thing Hiroko brings up. “He said he’d catch the next train, so it’ll probably be an hour or so before he gets here, but I think he turned off his phone. He hasn’t answered any of my texts.”

Mari appears behind her mother. “That sounds like Yuuri. He still doesn’t like the publicity.”

“You’d think he’d be used to it by now.”

Mari shrugs. “Soul of the three-year-old lasts to a hundred. It’s in his nature. Go relax, Yurio. The cake will keep until he gets here. You’re in the banquet room again.” She turns to leave — she’s never bothered trying to help move his bags, no matter how Hiroko looks at her, which is an attitude Yuri appreciates — but she pauses to add, “Better say hi to the girls first; they’re practically foaming at the mouth.”

Sure enough, as soon as Yuri pokes his head into the dining room, Axel, Lutz, and Loop are firing questions at him. They’ve all got solid careers in journalism ahead of them, he can tell.

“Show us all the blackmail photos you took at the banquet!”

“Did Otabek really land a quad axel during practice?”

“Did you get video? I won’t believe it until I see it myself.”

And the question he was dreading most, voiced from every mouth in the room:

“Is Yuuri really retiring?”

“Hell if I know,” Yuri replies, ignoring all the other questions, ignoring the sting of betrayal he’s still reeling from. “It was just as much news to me as it was to you.”

Lutz fixes him with her gimlet eye. She’s either going to end up in corporate espionage or the head columnist at a gossip rag. Twelve isn’t too young to start spy training. “You thought you’d have another chance to beat him next year, didn’t you?”

He’s not answering that, but his silence is probably answer enough.

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

“I have no idea; ask _him._ Asshole. The only reason I didn’t murder him right there at the press conference was all the cameras.”

Mari leans in the doorway. “Kind of hard to plead innocent when they’ve got photo evidence, isn’t it?”

Yuuko, seated at the far end of the table in front of a cake with a tiger on it (shit, they spoil him too much, it’s way too tempting to just stay here all off-season every time), has been watching the whole exchange with a fond smile, but she finally takes pity on him.

“Come on, girls, let him breathe. He only just got here. How was the train ride?”

“It was fine.”

Then Mari grabs the handle of his suitcase — which, _what_ — and says, “He’s going to go settle in. You can catch up later.”

Yuri steals his luggage back, but follows her out of the room and up the stairs.

“I didn’t need rescuing,” he mutters once they reach the hallway. Mari just smiles knowingly. It’s a distressingly familiar expression; Yuuri uses it on him far too often, and it sparks a flare of affection in his chest every damn time. He’s been conditioned like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

“Onsen’s nice this time of day,” Mari says lightly, and leaves him alone.

 

Yuri’s only just starting to relax into the hot water when he hears the door from the bathing rooms open.

He knows exactly who it is. He doesn’t look up.

Yuuri slips into the water with a low sigh and drifts over until he’s barely an arm’s length away, then leans back against the wall. Yuri can feel him watching. He’s not going to reward him with a response. He’s not going to let his eyes slip sideways to take in Yuuri’s naked chest, either.

The silence stretches taut.

Damn it. Between the two of them, Yuuri’s always been the one with more patience.

“No Victor?” Yuri asks, surly.

“I’m not his only skater anymore, Yurio. You know he had to go back with Natalia.”

“Natalia can handle herself for one international flight. I was younger than her when I came here for the first time.”

“And Yakov was livid about it, as I recall.”

Yuri glares at him from the corner of his eye, and it’s like there was a checklist waiting at the back of his head. Is Yuuri still hot? Yes, not like it was even a question; Yuri saw him in the locker rooms less than a day ago. Still aggravating beyond belief? It would take a lot longer than a day to change _that._ Is he still _Yuuri,_ still a paradoxical mix of shy and bold, still arresting, even on the other side of his stupid, awful surprise announcement?

...Yes.

“You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you,” Yuri says, resigned.

Yuuri just smiles like the infuriating shithead he is.

“I hate you. Are you seriously retiring?”

Now the smile leaks into Yuuri’s voice as he tries to deflect. “I just spent the last twenty-four hours giving interviews about it, so if not then I have a lot of explaining to do.”

Yuri grits his teeth. He’s not going to let Yuuri play it off, doesn’t care how much Yuuri wants to avoid the subject, doesn’t care how uncomfortable he is. “Did _he_ know?” They both know he means Victor.

“Ah.” Yuuri’s expression falls flat. “No.”

“So you’re just deciding things for yourself again.”

Yuri clenches his fists under the water. Yuuri’s silence is damning.

At least Yuri wasn’t the only one left in the dark. Yuuri’s not just an asshole, he’s a selfish asshole. And he’s going to disappear back to Hasetsu like he hasn’t carved a place for himself at the rink in St. Petersburg, like Victor won’t crumble without his prize student around, like it isn’t going to break Natalia’s heart when her idol leaves. Like he and Yuri haven’t been trading podium spots for _years,_ like Yuri isn’t— like he isn’t even worth the courtesy of—

Yuuri will just up and vanish without a word. Fucking typical.

“Mari said you were angry,” Yuuri says quietly, “but it shouldn’t be that surprising. You’ve seen how my jumps have been suffering lately. My knees won’t last forever.”

Gee, where’s he heard that before. Oh right, from _Victor,_ right before the prick came back for another three gold medals.

“There’s surgeries for that,” Yuri spits.

“Not for—”

“Shut up! I was supposed to fight you for gold again next year. What the hell am I supposed to do without my rival? You can’t quit! I’m not done trouncing you yet!” It’s only when Yuuri looks up at him, eyes wide, that Yuri realizes he’s stood up to loom over him. He honestly wants to _throttle_ Yuuri. He thinks he might cry.

“Yurio—”

“And now you’re going to— Victor and I will tear each other to pieces without you at the rink, you _know_ that, why would you _leave—”_

“Yurio.” It’s quiet, but Yuuri says his name with such iron that it cuts Yuri’s rant off at the knees. “I said I’m _retiring._ Not that I’m leaving.”

Yuri splutters for a moment, lost. “You— what—”

“Victor has been talking about choreographing a lot lately. He’s not subtle. I was thinking of taking over most of the coaching so he could work on new programs.”

“So you’re not—”

“No. I’m not leaving Russia.”

Yuri feels like he can breathe for the first time in almost two days. Holy _fuck._ Not leaving.

He drops back down next to Yuuri, closer this time so their shoulders bump. If Yuuri’s going to pull this kind of shit, the least he can do is support some of Yuri’s weight while he figures out how to inhale properly again.

“...You fucker.”

“You really thought I was just going to, what, pack up and come back here?”

“What was I supposed to think?” Yuri demands, slumping over further. He could just _crush_ Yuuri; that would solve everything. Yuuri couldn’t retire or leave or anything because he’d be _dead,_ flat as a fucking pancake and drowned at the bottom of the onsen. “You announce your retirement out of the blue, right after stealing the World Championship gold from me _again,_ and then you duck out of our train trip for some dumb interview you could have done on the phone anyway, and— argh, you are the most awful person I’ve ever met. I hate you so much.”

Yuuri sighs his stupid fond sigh, the one that gets a lot of use around the rink when Yuri and Victor yell at each other about rotations, and drops his head on top of Yuri’s. Yuri sucks in a startled breath and tries not to make any sudden movements. He doesn’t want to scare him off.

They sit like that for a while and Yuri gradually relaxes, letting the heat of the water soak in. Yuuri keeps his head pillowed on Yuri’s, warm and steady. It’s… really nice. Soothes the sting of that press conference a little.

Not enough, though.

“Your mother said…” Yuri begins.

“Mmm?”

“She said she was looking forward to having you back home. Kind of made it sound like you’d talked to her about it.”

Yuuri finds his hand under the water, and that’s— oh, that’s never going to stop giving him goosebumps. Every now and then Yuuri will do this sort of thing, taking his hand or petting his hair or _hugging_ him or some shit, and Yuri never knows quite what to make of it. It’s confusing. Yuuri is still pretty standoffish most of the time. Victor is the only other person he treats even remotely like this, but the two of them are and have always been weird about everything. They’re all over each other like two puppies, and just as innocent.

There’s a tingling climbing up the back of Yuri’s neck that says whatever Yuuri’s doing now is _different._ Not innocent at all. He wants to dismiss it as wishful thinking, and yet...

“No, I didn’t make any plans,” Yuuri says, playing idly with Yuri’s hand. “I hadn’t spoken to her since before the short program. She was probably just excited.” It takes a minute for Yuri to remember what he’s talking about, but then it hits and— yeah, that makes a difference. Yuuri is a disaster of a person. He didn’t even tell his own _mother._ Yuri can’t imagine not letting Grandpa know if he was retiring.

“You know,” he says slowly, flexing his fingers in Yuuri’s grip, “you can visit more often. Or we could all go together. It’s pretty nice here. I bet Victor wouldn’t mind eating more homemade katsudon, either.”

Yuuri makes a noncommittal noise, then falls silent.

After a long moment in which Yuri contemplates and discards over a dozen possible salvos ranging from “My hand is not actually a stress ball,” to “Take it back, you asshole, skate one more season with me,” to “Let me kiss you just once, _fuck,”_ Yuuri speaks again.

“I just… wanted to leave on a high note, you know?” He almost sounds like he’s talking to himself, but he’s still got Yuri’s fingers trapped in his own, bending them absently while he’s absorbed in his own head. It seems somehow very private. “The slow fade would be so much worse, and I know that if I kept on next year that’s what would happen. I can’t— I don’t want that to be my end. And it has to end sometime.”

Yuri doesn’t want to talk about retirement anymore, he doesn’t even want to _think_ about it, as if just the thought will invite the spectre in to haunt him.

But he has no room to judge Yuuri’s reasons. The _method,_ sure, but not the reasons. Isn’t that the same thing that’s been running through the back of his own mind, carefully ignored? Isn’t that the same thing _every_ skater thinks at some point? Anyone who goes into competitive figure skating knows they’re fighting a losing battle against the clock. Defeat is an inevitable part of the path. There’s honor in choosing your last stand.

Doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“You’re _my_ rival,” he says fiercely, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “Mine.” They’re still pressed close, shoulder to shoulder, Yuuri’s head heavy on top of his own, and every flex of Yuuri’s grip threatens to derail Yuri’s train of thought.

“Hmm,” Yuuri says, teasingly light. “I did consider that. What would happen when I left competition? Would you find someone else to pit yourself against? JJ? Minami, maybe?”

“Oh god, no. Kill me first.” Yuri’s mouth is on autopilot. Yuuri’s fingers flex around his own again.

This can’t be going where he thinks it’s going. Can it?

“And that’s exactly what I thought you’d say,” Yuuri says. “So retiring is safe.” There’s that knowing smile again; Yuri can’t even see it but he can _hear_ it in Yuuri’s voice and it still floods him with stupid mushy feelings.

“You just want to keep all my hatred for yourself. You’re so selfish, Katsudon.”

Yuuri’s thumb starts stroking along Yuri’s, purposeful. _What is he doing,_ Yuri thinks, slightly hysterical. There’s heat traveling up his arm that has nothing to do with the water temperature. He’s got to be wrong, there’s no way Yuuri would—

“So what if I am selfish?” Yuuri asks. “That’s not the worst thing you’ve called me.” Yuuri lifts his head, shifts away. Is he getting up? Going back inside, leaving? Is this the end of whatever the hell is happening right now? A weight drops into Yuri’s stomach at the thought and he clutches at Yuuri’s fingers. But no, Yuuri’s twisting, he’s— leaning in, oh god—

“You said I’m _your_ rival, but don’t forget. You’re also mine.”

Yuuri’s rich brown eyes bore into him from up close, _so_ close; there’s literally nothing else this could mean and yet he can’t quite bring himself to believe that Yuuri is actually going to—

When Yuuri’s lips touch his, Yuri’s mind goes blank and then explodes into chaos.

Objectively it’s not much of a kiss. Chaste, dry, just a press of lips to lips without anything exciting happening. But Yuri recognizes what’s going on.

This is competition Yuuri. This is Yuuri reaching out and fearlessly grabbing for what he wants _(and what he wants is you?_ gasps one baffled part of Yuri’s brain, which he decides to ignore), but in another couple seconds Yuuri’s going to start freaking out and second-guessing himself and Yuri won’t be done kissing him by then. He might not be done kissing him _ever._ So Yuri threads his fingers into Yuuri’s hair and readies himself to hang on.

He’ll _make_ Yuuri deal with the consequences. No running off, not this time.

Or maybe he can distract him so thoroughly that he forgets to pull back at all.

Yuri pushes in, presses insistent kisses to Yuuri’s mouth, opens his lips just enough to tempt Yuuri into reciprocating, and then their tongues brush and Yuri is suddenly completely done with _patient_ and _slow._ He yanks Yuuri in with the one hand still in his hair and gets the other in a solid grip around his back and works over Yuuri’s mouth with lips and tongue and teeth in the most thorough kiss he’s ever given.

It’s still not enough. Yuuri kisses back just as hard, just as deep, and Yuri is on fire, but in all the little spaces between _yes_ and _please_ and _more,_ there’s a frantic understanding that if he doesn’t keep fanning this blaze, Yuuri will stop and pull back and fucking _retire_ without any warning, _fuck him,_ what gave him the right to do that to Yuri—

Okay, so Yuri’s still not over it. That part might take a while. Doesn’t matter what the reason was, Yuuri still blindsided him with abandonment and it fucking _hurts._

So Yuri will have to make him stay.

He throws a leg over Yuuri’s lap so he can get even closer, kiss him even deeper, and—

Oh god, they’re naked. He’d honestly forgotten, but nope, they’re in the onsen and he’s naked and wet and sitting in naked Yuuri’s lap, _naked._

Ha. He’s turning Yuuri on. That’s a dick stirring under his left ass cheek.

That’s _Yuuri’s_ dick.

There is an ostentatiously oversized bed in the room upstairs and it’s a waste, an absolutely criminal waste, for them not to be in it right now.

 

The trip upstairs goes smoothly (Yuuri insists on both of them donning yukata, but that’s all, and they hurry past anyone who might have seen and stopped them) but by the time they reach the room and get the doors closed behind them, Yuri has left Yuuri without kisses for too long.

Now Yuuri’s pulling back.

“Slow down, Yurio.”

“No.” Yuri slithers his arms around Yuuri’s waist again, glides one up his spine in a firm caress intended to keep him close, seals their lips together.

Yuuri speaks through the kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was exactly the wrong thing to say. How is Yuuri so clueless? How?

“You—” Yuri is apoplectic. “You stood on top of that podium and you smiled at me and clinked our medals together and not half an hour later you were announcing your intention to _never do that again._ Forgive me if I don’t feel very trusting right now. So no, I don’t want to slow down, because if I do you’re going to turn around and decide you don’t want to be _here,_ either, and I can’t—”

His eyes are getting wet. This is appalling.

“Yurio, no, I— you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know _what?”_

“That I—” Yuuri doesn’t finish the thought, but he moves closer, which is an improvement. Then he kisses Yuri again, soft and warm and mmm, yes, that’s his tongue, oh that’s good, this is moving in the right direction again. Yuri can forgive a lot for that.

“I’ve wanted…” Yuuri keeps interrupting himself to kiss him again. “Can’t believe you didn’t see.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not psychic, Katsudon; I can’t read your mind.”

Yuuri snorts. “Yeah, well, no one’s ever accused me of being communicative.” He tilts their foreheads together and settles his hands on Yuri’s chest. Both their yukata are falling open. Yuuri looks into the scant space between them.

“I’m sorry, Yurio.”

“You’d fucking _better_ be sorry. You should’ve said something. Don’t spring shit like that on people.”

“I just— didn’t want all the attention, didn’t want the questions and the media and everyone talking about me like that. You know how it is with retirement rumors.”

“Fuck the media, fuck everybody, I don’t give a shit about them. Why didn’t you tell _me?”_

“I…” He hesitates, and Yuri knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that whatever leaves Yuuri’s mouth next is going to be the absolute height of stupidity, the gold standard of moronic against which all other moronic statements are judged.

“I didn’t want it to darken our last season together.”

Fucking— no. No. He is busy feeling _betrayed;_ he doesn’t find that cute in the slightest, no way.

“You are a _colossal idiot_ and I hate you,” Yuri says, and the words sound way too soft and fond and mushy but he can’t seem to help it.

Yuuri blushes and says, “You, too,” in a voice that’s obviously trying for offhand and completely failing to reach it, and you know what? No. Screw this. There has been way too much emotional whiplash this weekend. Yuri is getting himself something nice today. Maybe Yuuri will even want to do it again sometime.

He picks Yuuri up and deposits him on the bed, then climbs after, opening Yuuri’s yukata from the bottom hem up, and by the time he reaches Yuuri’s mouth there aren’t any more words to be said for a long while.

 

They do find their way downstairs eventually, and it’s still early enough to be almost decent. Yuuri holds his hand all the way down the stairs, and presses a light kiss to his cheek at the bottom, and— oh. Maybe this really is a more-than-one-time thing.

Yuri pauses.

Wow, this weekend _has_ rattled him. He’s _Yuri Fucking Plisetsky._ Now that he knows the option is on the table, he’s going to turn this into an all-the-time thing and there’s nothing that can stop him. He can hardly wait to get Yuuri spread out and moaning under him again.

Axel sees them coming and careens off to gather the rest of the crowd, and they all squeeze around the table in the dining room.

“Happy birthday, Yurio!”

“And happy retirement, Yuuri!”

“So now that you’re coaching,” Minako asks Yuuri, “will you be taking over Yurio’s training?”

Yuuri looks at Yuri. Yuri looks steadily back.

“There’s only one type of training I’ll accept from you, Katsudon, and it sure as hell doesn’t take place at the rink.”

It takes a moment, but then Yuuri goes a brilliant scarlet and Minako fucking _cackles,_ bless her filthy mind, and the triplets whip out more phones than they should reasonably possess and—

“Cooking!” Yuuri says, strangled. “He’s talking about cooking! Put down the camera!”

“Tell that to the kiss mark on your neck.”

There are worse ways to end the season.

**Author's Note:**

> He's going to woo Yuuri _so hard._ (Spoiler: Yuuri was already wooed ages ago. He's jumping on that d at the earliest opportunity.)


End file.
